When I Dream, I Dream in Colour
by DobbyLovesSocks
Summary: Because life these days may be all in black and white, but when she dreams, the colours come alive. /For Lady


when I dream, I dream in colour.

**A./N.** **This is dedicated to Lady (Lady Phoenix Fire Rose). It's my GGE March fic. Lady, I'm sorry about the lack of Harry in your Hinny- this is the only thing I was getting ideas for. I know you're a big Harry fan, so I'm sorry about that. I hope you enjoy, anyway!  
**

**Thanks to the brilliant Paula for beta-ing!**

**Word count: 1351  
**

* * *

She wakes up in the morning, her face pale and grim. The twins still manage to laugh the days away, but Ginny can't lay eyes on her brother without seeing the hole that used to be an ear, and thinking of that cold, dark, endless night. By the time she leaves for Hogwarts, it's almost a relief to escape the pain of memory.

She doesn't know that back at school, the pain they endure is much, much worse.

* * *

The days are bleak and grey with flashes of brightness in the form of punishment. The Carrows screech and yell and the only thing that gets her through the days is the memories, the bittersweet memories of the previous year, sneaking off for stolen kisses and holding hands with the boy she thought she loved.

And where is he now? Gone again on some adventure where she may never see him again. He claims that he _can't_ tell her, that she's safer here, that in the end, she'll understand. But she's Ginny Weasley, and all she wants to hear is why her brother and Hermione matter so much fucking more to him than she does. He trusts them, clearly; enough to take them onto this long and supposedly _dangerous_ journey. She wants to be angry at him. She wants to hate him and be over him and not give a damn as to whether he lives or dies at the end of all this. But she knows that's not going to happen. So instead, she fights back during the days, parading the spit-fire temper that she's known for, and waits for night to come.

Because life these days may be all in black and white, but when she dreams, the colours come alive.

When she dreams, it's all okay. Some nights, it's such a cliched dream; they're in a field of flowers, and he's murmuring in her ear and kissing her, and she almost knows she's dreaming, but lets herself enjoy it anyway. And other nights, it feels so _real_, that when she wakes up in the morning, she's confused for a moment before reality crashes down again. She just wants to forget her feelings for him and move on; but sometimes the simplest wishes are the hardest to make come true.

* * *

She pours her love and and jealousy and anger into other things, like helping Ginny and Neville with the DA, and fighting back against the Carrows.

"She's a stubborn little thing," they squack, cackling, before the fiery hot pain attacks her entire body.

Knives pierce her entire body, and she can feel the blades pressing harder into every inch of her. Her mind is muddled, and she can't think, except for _don'tscreamdon'tscreamdon'tscreamdon'tscream, _because she refuses to give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt her. She refuses to give anyone that satisfaction, and she whispers the same thing to herself before bed every night.

_Don'tscreamdon'tscreamdon'tscream._

Over the next few days, it becomes her little mantra. Neville and Seamus and everyone else are beginning to get a bit worried as she speaks less and less. But she fights harder and harder, and she only seems to be getting stronger, so they don't push her. But even this new situation gets old quickly, and she's back in the cold black and white life she'd gotten used to.

The torture becomes more and more evident. Raw, red marks mar her pale skin, and she's losing weight quickly. There are purple circles under her eyes and matching bruises on her cheeks, and after a while, they all blur together into a sort of bluish black. But still, she gives her all, awaiting the hours in which she sleeps; the only time in which colour appears in her world again.

* * *

Houses lose all meaning; there's Slytherin and there's Not, and everyone who falls into the latter bonds together against the Carrows, doing whatever little bit they can to make sure that Potter wins. Even house colours, red and yellow and bronze and black and blue and gold, mesh into a sort of grey, making Ginny's life just the slightest bit duller.

Slytherin's silver and green are the only real colours left in her world, and damn the day that she'll be relying on Slytherin to keep her going.

_No_. Not Slytherin. Her dreams are what keep her going; that much is certain. Nights fly by, and she thinks that this _has to end._ She can't go through every day desperate for it to be over, and then when nights go by all too fast, start the whole thing over again. She just _can't._ But her dreams cradle her in a way nothing else does, full of her lively flames and his dazzling emeralds, and they remind her how life used to be.

They're the only bit of him she has left. Nights are like sunsets over the ocean, she thinks; seemingly impossible to reach, and gone all too soon.

_It all goes too soon._

* * *

Easter holidays come and go, and Mum and Dad whisk her away. Mum tends to her wounds, and it doesn't take much to set her off, these days. Now that she's home (well, if you can really call Muriel's place "home"), she expected life to be better, more like it was before. But she's not a little girl anymore, and her parents trust her to understand and help. Now, there isn't even a chance to get smart with the Carrows to add some flavour to her days, and she isn't able to help Neville and Luna continue the DA.

The excitement and relief of getting home wore off quickly, and she spends her days walking in circles when her mum and dad don't need her. She's nearly memorized every single stone outside of Muriel's house, but she still walks the same path day after day, as if hoping that Harry will spring from the ground. She's sixteen, for God's sake, she's not a child anymore. But still, she can't help but hope. Hope that Harry is okay, that he'll show up at Muriel's house one day and grab her and take her on adventures, like he's the Doctor and she's his companion. Day after day after day, she walks the same grey path; and day after day after day, nothing changes. Not a single stone.

* * *

The battle rages around her, and she isn't allowed to move. She isn't allowed to move, to fight, to do _anything,_ because she's fucking underage, and her mum cares too much. Does Voldemort care if she's underage? Of course not; he'd still kill her in an instant. So, she wonders, why can't she do the same in return? This should be _exciting, _she thinks. Terrifying, but exciting all the same. But no. She isn't allowed to move, and she's honestly getting _bored_ right in the middle of a battle that will change the world. Even now, she's stuck daydreaming in false colour.

And then suddenly she's outside. She isn't sure how she got there or who she's with and the only thing she knows is that Harry is _dead _and Hagrid is crying and she thinks she is too, and suddenly, the colour is back.

She sees the colours that she's seen all along; the green of the grass and the red of the blood, but now she sees the colours that really _show;_ the blues of sorrow and the reds of anger and the yellows of fear, and she thinks she misses the oblivion of a black and white world- anything but the gut-wrenching pain inside her. The colour of pain is ripping her apart, and it's _blinding_.

Then suddenly, Harry is alive, and she doesn't know what to think.

Time isn't moving correctly.

"Now" doesn't seem to exist.

She doesn't know who is in front of her or who is behind her; she just knows the man and the monster in front of it all, battling until the end.

And when he wins, she's screaming and crying as she realises that the colour in her dreams has come back to her.

This time, for good.


End file.
